


vagary

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodhi Rook Lives, Bonding, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Rogue One, Post-Star Wars: A New Hope, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Bodhi’s fingers twitched in a gesture at the bench across from Luke. Only once Luke nodded did he sit though, his motions careful, deliberate. A wince crossed his features and quickly smoothed itself away like it had never been there at all. Luke noticed it anyway. “I know who you are. Everyone on the base does now. You’ll get used to it.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).



“The target area is only two meters wide. It’s a small, thermal exhaust—”

Leaned forward, Luke’s elbows were on his knees, hands clasped beneath his chin. He was listening so intently to General Dodonna’s briefing that the sound of a chair scraping the floor, unexpectedly loud and shrill, made him flinch and got his heartrate going a little quicker than he liked. And, he thought as he looked around, a few others, too, including Dodonna, who paused in his speech as he—and everyone else—turned their attention to the source of the distraction. It was a man, not a pilot as far as Luke knew, and he wore dark coveralls in contrast to the bright orange worn by practically everyone else in the room. Head ducked, he pushed a few stray hairs behind his ear, the strands long and dark and falling free from a messy ponytail, as he slipped toward the back of the room. He never once lifted his eyes from the floor.

Everyone stepped aside for him and almost everyone turned their attention from him once they realized who it was.

The tone of the meeting had been somber before. Anyone could tell that much, the hope draining from eyes and bodies all around the room as Dodonna explained just how impossible it would be. The whole base had been somber and Luke along with it. But somehow, the mere acknowledgement of the man—and his disappearance from the proceedings—only cast an even deeper pall over the room. Everyone except Luke, that was to say, who could only glance around in confusion.

Dodonna cleared his throat and, with more kindness and pity than Luke had yet heard from him, said, “Let’s get back to it.”

Luke didn’t even think he’d have needed the Force to sense the change, it was that instantaneous. “Who was that?” he asked, quiet, of the man sitting next to him, another pilot named Wedge, and a good guy as far as he could tell. From what he’d heard, he was one of the best on the base—both as far as people went and pilots.

Wedge shook his head once, sharp. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, cool, not unfriendly, but not inviting any confidences either. “Leave him alone, yeah?”

Frowning, Luke nodded, a furrow forming between his eyes. “I don’t wanna…” But Luke didn’t know how to finish that statement in all honesty. He was just curious. He hadn’t meant anything by the question.

Wedge sighed and looked at Luke, really looked, some of the chill thawing. Abashed contrition replaced it as he rolled his neck back and forth and scrubbed at his hair. “Oh, hell. Sorry, Luke. I just—his name’s Bodhi and he’s had a hard time of it lately. That’s all I really feel comfortable saying.” Wedge didn’t have to say anything else. He knew what being protective looked like. He had quite a bit of experience with it from the other side and found himself glad that Bodhi had someone looking out for him, though he didn’t yet know why. He bit back a smile, thinking of Biggs and the fact that they’d found their way back to one another’s lives. That was a thought for another time, when all this was done.

Regardless, sympathy wrenched its way through Luke. Yeah, he got it. He was sure just about everyone around here did. He glanced toward the front of the room where Leia was standing and caught her eye. He saw concern there, too, though she didn’t seem to intend to do anything about it either. And he couldn’t blame her. She had her own problems. And the weight of the Rebellion on her shoulders, too. She couldn’t afford to offer her attention to every individual with a sad story to tell; she’d never have time for anything else if she tried.

Wedge had said he should let it go and maybe he should, but Luke got the feeling letting it go was the last thing he should do. Call it a hunch. Call it the Force. Call it a moment of maturity brought on by…

He swallowed and looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching between his knees, willing himself not to think of Tatooine, of his aunt and uncle, of Ben’s sacrifice. Those wounds were still too fresh, too overwhelming. 

Better to think of other things.

After the briefing, after they saved the day, after that Death Star was nothing more than a fireworks display above Yavin, he’d find Bodhi and ask him how he was doing.

 _Someone should_ , he thought.

And Luke got the distinct feeling that nobody had.

But right now there was work to be done.

*

The halls still echoed with the sound of a hundred different celebrations. After the awards ceremony had broken up, almost everyone had filed back to the hangar bay, trading stories and booze and laughs, hugs, and kisses. And for a long time, it had stayed that way. It was only a little while ago that individuals, pairs, and small groups had begun to peel off.

And Luke, knowing an opening when he saw one, took his chance.

“I’m sorry about your friend. Biggs, right? He was nice. I met him once,” a soft voice said, the words accented by a world Luke probably hadn’t heard of and would never visit. The voice belonged to a black-clad torso and a kind, melancholy face once Luke finally bothered to look up and see it. That accent itself sounded almost Imperial… if the Empire cultivated warmth and comfort and sadness in its people instead of belligerence and short-tempers. But what did Luke know about it? He was just a kid from some backwater who’d made a lucky shot and survived when a whole lot of good people didn’t.

Other than running into a bunch of stormtroopers, his experience with Imperials began and ended at the handful of holorecordings he’d seen of some high-ranking official or other giving a speech.

“You’re Bodhi,” Luke answered, pushing himself up and propping his chin on his hands so he wasn’t just staring down at the table anymore, his body half splayed across it. The adrenaline high had worn off, the joy of knowing they’d won dwindling to nothing the longer the night wore on. The mess hall probably wasn’t the best place to grieve—not after he’d just been awarded a shiny medal, who wanted to see the hero mope?—but it was late and there’d been no one around and it had seemed, at the time, like a perfectly reasonable place to think about Biggs. He would have eaten here, gotten to know new friends here; it made Luke feel closer to him. The fact that it was abandoned at this hour only made it more appealing. “I’m Luke Skywalker.”

“May I?” Bodhi’s fingers twitched in a gesture at the bench across from Luke. Only once Luke nodded did he sit though, his motions careful, deliberate. A wince crossed his features and quickly smoothed itself away like it had never been there at all. Luke noticed it anyway. “I know who you are. Everyone on the base does now. You’ll get used to it.”

Luke snorted. “Huh, right.” This wasn’t how he’d imagine their meeting at all. And a fresh stab of guilt assaulted him for that, too. He hadn’t meant to rub in the fact that Luke had talked about him with other people. “Nobody told me anything,” he said, unsure whether that would help or not. He shouldn’t have presumed; he could have pretended he had no idea who Bodhi was. It wouldn’t have been a lie. All he had was a name and a visceral understanding that Bodhi had faced a terrible hardship, possibly more than one. That didn’t mean he _knew_ anything. “Just your name.”

Bodhi tried to smile, his lips thinning as one corner of his mouth lifted upward, but he ducked his head before Luke could see it completed. When he looked up again, he was as serious as he’d started and his eyes held cold, pained knowledge that Luke didn’t have access to and couldn’t guess. “That doesn’t seem fair,” he said. “No one can stop talking about the Jedi who defeated the Death Star. They’re saying only you could have made that shot.” He thrust his hand across the table, an awkward attempt at… Luke wasn’t sure what. Bodhi cleared his throat. “I just wanted to thank you. For making that shot.”

As Luke shook his head, the axis of his world tilted at that word. Jedi. All over again. Ben was—had _been_ , he wasn’t anything anymore—a Jedi. Luke was… he was no one. And certainly not a Jedi. “I’m not a…” But he couldn’t finish this assertion, not when Bodhi was looking at him with something like expectation in his eyes.

“I knew a man who’d have loved to meet you anyway, Luke.” Fondness softened Bodhi’s features, at least until that fondness exposed a sharper, bitter edge and faded away. “And I’m still grateful.”

 _You knew_ , Luke thought. Luke, too, had known people. They were gone now, too. Luke wanted to ask or offer comfort or say anything at all, but he couldn’t get the words out. They just wouldn’t come to him. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, the only thing he could. There was so much to be sorry about and only so many ways to say it.

Vague apologies were safe. They could be given easily.

Bodhi smiled, sad. “Me, too,” he said, so quiet Luke almost couldn’t hear him.

Silence ballooned between them, expanding and filling the space where conversation should have existed. It used to be Luke had something to say at every occasion, would chatter anyone’s ear off who was willing to listen to him. But though Luke didn’t dare speak, he couldn’t excuse himself, not while Bodhi remained across from him. And he did. For a long time.

It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t even very nice. But he was comforted, too, everything about Bodhi seeming right to him anyway, his presence in the Force a soothing one. Despite the roil he made of himself on the surface, deep down, Bodhi was as centered as anyone Luke knew. He believed.

Luke wanted to be like that, wished he could do for Bodhi what Bodhi was doing for him. He just didn’t know how or whether Bodhi would welcome it if he did.

That was yet another question about Bodhi that Luke just didn’t have an answer for.

*

“All right,” Wedge said, slapping his hand against the side of what had quickly become Luke’s X-wing. He already recognized the scoring that couldn’t be buffed out no matter how often he tried, the gouges and chips that made up the many small imperfections that separated his ship from the others that filled the hangar. They could repaint the ship and he’d still know it was his. “You ready to head out to log a few flight hours?”

Luke closed his eyes, a habit he’d picked up from Ben, and stretched out with the Force. He figured if he was going to learn anything, if he was ever going to be the Jedi Ben and Bodhi and everyone else expected him to be, he’d have to start trying. And already he’d noticed an improvement in his senses. His ability to discern people, creatures, and plants from one another was already growing more useful. It was for that reason alone he—his eyes snapped open. Across the hangar sat Bodhi, one leg bent normally, the other straight out with the heel of his boot taking most of his weight. It looked uncomfortable, particularly when he leaned to his side to pick something up from the ground.

“Is there any way you can slot me in later today?” he asked, going for casual and missing it by a lightyear.

To Wedge’s credit, he didn’t wince or frown or berate him, though he would have been well within his rights to do so. “Sure,” he said, eyes following Luke’s. His cheek twitched and there was a flash of warning in his eyes, as friendly as it could be given the circumstances. Luke still didn’t know what it was about Wedge that made him worry so much about Bodhi, but if Luke could articulate it, he would’ve let Wedge know he was happy someone was looking out for him. He’d also have said Wedge didn’t have to worry. Luke didn’t intend to hurt Bodhi. “Might have to go up with Verlaine, but I’ll try to be there.”

“Thanks, Wedge.”

Wedge opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it just as quickly, apparently deciding better of it. And Luke was grateful for that; he didn’t have a good reason to put off practice—and he really shouldn’t have—but he didn’t want to risk missing Bodhi, not now that the chance to see him has dropped in his lap.

Striding Bodhi’s way, he brushed his hand through his hair and tried to rehearse what he would say. He didn’t really have a good reason to bother Bodhi and Bodhi hadn’t sought him out after that run-in in the mess hall. It was entirely possible Bodhi didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

As though Luke’s thoughts summoned his attention, he looked up and waved, a spanner held loosely between his thumb and palm. “Luke,” he said, “hi.” Swiping his hand across his forehead, he left behind a streak of grease on his temple. Luke wanted very much to wipe it away.

“Hi,” he answered, searching his mind for something to say that would sound normal. Or even reasonable. He’d settle for that. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the hangar before.” Luke blinked and stared at the floor and noticed, for the first time, that there was a brace around Bodhi’s leg. It was almost the same shade as his suit, but it gleamed under the harsh lights. Face flaming, Luke averted his gaze even more, the only option left the wide entranceway through which he could see the green, verdant forests of Yavin.

“Perhaps you’ve just been busy,” Bodhi said, politely ignoring Luke’s lack of awareness as Luke’s eyes found their way back to him. His attention slipped wistfully past Luke to the line of X-wings behind him. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Luke said. “I mean… I came over here to see if you could use some help.”

Laughing lightly, still polite, Bodhi looked down at his hands, an engine part in pieces in his palms. “Are you a mechanic, too?”

“I didn’t know _you_ were a mechanic at all,” Luke answered. “I fly mostly, but I was told a long time ago that the best pilots knew everything there was to know about their ships.”

“Funny,” Bodhi answered. “I learned the same.”

Luke’s heart leapt for no reason that he could ascertain. “You’re a pilot.”

“I am.” He peered up at Luke, eyes crinkling at the corners. His index finger tapped at his brace. “I might even get to fly again at some point.”

Grabbing a nearby crate, Luke turned it on its side and sat astride it. “Your leg?”

“An accident,” Bodhi answered with a shrug. “It turns out knees and shrapnel don’t go together very well.”

Luke tried to imagine what kind of an accident a pilot could’ve gotten into that involved shrapnel and not dying and fought the instinctual shudder he felt at his own conclusions. Whatever happened couldn’t have been nice no matter what the truth was. Regardless of the morbidity of Luke’s curiosity, it didn’t seem fair to ask Bodhi to dredge it up. “No, I guess they wouldn’t.” He wanted to ask if it hurt, if there was anything he could do. His knuckles rapped at the crate instead. This was a thing he had no right to. “What are you working on?”

Bodhi tossed the piece to him. Turning it over and over, he examined it, aware of just how unnaturally warm it was—presumably thanks to Bodhi’s touch or Luke’s imaginings or both. It was a little bent out of shape, but it could probably be mended. Handing it back, he leaned toward Bodhi, caught the scent of the harsh soap they all had to use here, not only because it was the only thing they had, but because it was the only thing that could get the smell of the hangar off their skin. Metal, grease, fried wires, smoke. None of it was pleasant, but all of it was very, very strong and very, very determined to linger.

“So do you need any help? I’ve got a free morning and nothing to fill it with.”

Tossing a thoughtful glance his way, Bodhi pursed his lips and remained silent for a moment. “No,” he said finally, but before Luke could be more than the slightest bit disappointed, he added, “but I wouldn’t mind some company if you have the time to spare.”

Luke released a pent-up breath and nodded. “I can do that.”

*

Luke startled himself awake. The sweat drying on his forehead, his chest, his arms, made his skin tight and uncomfortably gritty. His heart bounded wildly in his chest, seemingly untethered, striking at his chest wherever and whenever it wanted to. When he tried to swing his legs off the edge of his bed, the sheets fought back, winding around his legs in a way that reminded him of the trash compactor on the Death Star. Kicking and shoving at them, doing himself no favors with the comparison, he freed himself and stalked toward the ’fresher.

Hands braced on the sink, head hanging, he splashed water on his face. A dream, his dream—if he’d been dreaming, it seemed _so real_ even now—lingered in his awareness even though he was awake, too awake now. Sleep wouldn’t return to him tonight, he knew that already, but he didn’t know what else to do but lie back down and try to get some rest.

Pain, phantom and fleeting, raced up and down his leg. The muscles in his thigh spasmed and his calf cramped in sympathy. He breathed and breathed and tried to rub the tightness away, but nothing helped, nothing more than time and focusing his attention on something else.

He’d read about planets with crystal blue waters, perfect and pristine, but he’d never seen one for himself except in blurry, tired holos. He’d never _seen_ sand that white and gleaming up close, like shards of glass sparkling in the sun, dangerous and sharp and softly billowing all at once. There wasn’t a variety of tree he could match to the strange, tall ones he’d generated in his mind, crowned in green nowhere except at the very tip of the trunk. He had no idea where the tall, black structure that his brain had conjured had come from. He never would’ve imagined something like that for himself.

But when he blinked, he saw red and black and orange, sparks of white, hissing gray smoke.

His ears rang with the sound of blaster fire, of screams, of bombs going off, of wailing alarms. The noise echoed and kept echoing, rattling around his head.

Names he didn’t know swirled in his thoughts.

All of it remained with him through until morning, when he decided to do something about it. Wedge didn’t want to tell Luke about Bodhi, fine, but maybe he would know something about this. Whatever this was… he needed to know if it was the Force sending him a vision of something that had happened or would happen or if it was a nightmare he’d created for himself or none of those things.

Tromping through the section of the base set aside for living quarters, he headed toward the hangar and caught sight of Leia through the wide opening that led into the Rebellion’s main hub of activity.

He found Leia pacing the command center, gesticulating at General Dodonna with something approaching violence, murder in her eye. If murder could be as earnest as she was anyway. There was vulnerability in her gaze, too, a fear that Luke didn’t and couldn’t share.

He already believed she was doing enough to support the Rebellion.

Too bad she would never believe it about herself.

Dodonna noticed him first, hanging in the doorway, good enough at remaining unruffled to not immediately show relief at the disruption, but likely happy for it all the same. Especially once Leia saw him, too, and immediately cut herself off. “Luke!” she said, a whole different person.

A part of him preened at that, that he could coax out this side of her. It felt like a privilege, one way he genuinely _was_ special. The rest of him was just glad she hadn’t yet decided to turn her ire on him.

“Leia, hey,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “General Dodonna. Sorry to bother you both.” He looked at Leia, took in the fierce color flooding her cheeks, the braid coiled carefully around her head that was already freeing itself of strands of hair, the way her body filled the room despite her stature. Maybe… maybe she could help him. He felt a little more comfortable bringing this up with her than Wedge anyway. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” she answered, concerned, striding toward him as though this was the most important mission she would have to handle today. “What is it?”

While Luke composed his thoughts, she led them into a corner of the room where they could talk with something approaching privacy. Her eyes never left his face and her demeanor, though serious, conveyed an openness and willingness to listen that Luke appreciated.

Particularly because what he had to say sounded… it would sound ridiculous. It _was_ ridiculous.

He should just let it go. It was a dream, nothing more.

He swallowed and accepted the fact that he would probably shortly make himself look very foolish in front of Leia. _This is for you, Galen_. “Do you know someone named Galen?” he asked. _Jyn, Cassian, can you hear me? Are you reading this?_ He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. The words were so clear. It was only the voice he couldn’t place. It wasn’t his own, he was sure of that, but it was, too. It felt like his voice anyway.

Leia’s eyes widened and if Luke needed answers, he had at least one already: the dream he’d had wasn’t nothing. “How did you hear that name?”

He could lie and say he’d heard someone around the base talking about it, but this was Leia and he trusted her and more than that, he wanted to tell her. “I had a dream,” he admitted. “There was a tropical planet and—”

Leia sucked in a harsh breath and sorrow transformed her features. She didn’t answer, but he knew he’d said something wrong all the same.

He hadn’t meant to cause her pain. His tongue poked out of his mouth as he wet his lips and pressed them together again. It made him wish he’d been here all along. He’d know instead of bumbling along making an ass of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean…”

“No.” She shook her head, the anguish leaving her. Though replaced with a faint smile, Luke still felt guilty for instigating it at all. “It’s not you. I didn’t know him, but there was a man named Galen Erso. He’s—part of the reason we were able to destroy the Death Star.” Wrapping her hand around his, she pulled him toward the door. “I’ll show you. I’m surprised no one has yet.”

‘Showing him’ consisted of dragging him halfway across the base to where a statue stood, two people—a man and woman—linked arm-in-arm, a pair that Leia stared at with helpless, hopeless fondness for one long moment. And next to it was a plaque. The bottom bore a large inscription: _‘Rebellions are built on hope.’_

Across the top, in smaller script, ‘ _Rogue One.’_

_Jyn Erso | Captain Cassian Andor | Chirrut Îmwe | Baze Malbus | K-2SO_

Below those names—and it took everything in Luke to not suck in a surprised breath at seeing the number—were many others, three columns worth of them. Luke reached up, his fingertips grazing each name, catching on the harsh, quick work done with each engraving. “What happened?”

“The Battle of Scarif,” Leia answered. “They’re the reason we have the Death Star plans.”

Luke swallowed, deeply saddened. So many lives lost for even the chance of success. And so many more lost while taking that chance. Tears prickled at his eyes, ones he wouldn’t allow himself to shed.

He couldn’t feel pride for having been the one to see this thing through when so many had died.

He was just profoundly grateful that someone had been able to. Many someones, in fact. He wouldn’t have accomplished any of it without everyone else who’d lost their lives before him. This only drove that fact more clearly home.

As though he needed the reminder.

“Scarif is a tropical planet, Luke,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “That’s what you were dreaming about. Most of it was wiped out by the Death Star. Not completely, but enough of it was destroyed that it’ll be years before anyone can go back.”

“I… thank you.” He’d wanted an answer, yet somehow he hadn’t thought this would be it. _At least you know you weren’t having a vision_.

“Of course,” Leia answered. She bit her lip and stared at the plaque, intent for a long, silent moment. Squeezing his arm, she stepped away. “I ought to head back.”

“Oh,” he said. Embarrassment churned inside of him for having disrupted her day this much already. “Yeah, sure. Thanks again.”

After she left, he read each name over and over again, imagining what it must have been like. The details of the dream were already starting to slip, leaving him with swirls of color and pain and little else.

_This is for you, Galen._

_Jyn, Cassian, can you hear me? Are you reading this?_

A chill ran up Luke’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt cold and hot all over, uneasy, and thought of the ghost stories he grew up with, tales of finding sun-bleached bones in the dunes and the curses that came along with them. But these weren’t bleached bones. This was a smooth, gray piece of durasteel. A list of names. Nothing anyone would concoct a legend about.

Palm pressed against it, he remained there for a long time, eyes closed, deep in thought. The Force swirled around him, elusive. It formed a tangle in his mind that wouldn’t be undone today, but he hoped he’d find a way through to the other side, find a way to make all this bloodshed worth it.

“Rest easy,” he said, quiet, for lack of anything better to say. “You’ve done your part. I’ll do what I can for you.”

If there were ghosts here, he hoped they were comforted.

And if there weren’t, at least no one was around to see him talking to a wall.

*

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Bodhi asked, swinging his legs across the bench and taking a seat. Luke didn’t say anything, but he was pleased to see Bodhi taking the initiative, that he had correctly understood Luke would welcome his presence at any time whether he said so or not.

Or maybe Luke was just reading too much into it.

Luke picked at the smooth duraplast tabletop. “Something like that,” he answered, missing Biggs all the more for the implied reminder, hating the fact that it wasn’t his grief over that loss that kept him up tonight. No. He just didn’t want to have another nightmare and he didn’t want to be alone in quarters that had belonged to someone else first. Better to be alone in a public place, he supposed. At least he knew it wasn’t only the dead who lingered there. “Looks like you’re having the same problem.”

That soft smile of his stole over his face again, hiding so much more than it revealed. Luke wished he knew what it meant. “I never really sleep,” Bodhi answered. “I haven’t since I was a boy.”

“That’s too bad.”

Bodhi shrugged. “I’ve grown used to it.”

 _You shouldn’t have had to_. “Are you…” He cleared his throat. “How are you doing?” This was what he’d always meant to do; he should’ve done it sooner. And here he’d forgotten, too. Bodhi was the sort of person who slipped through the cracks. Perhaps he was the sort who let himself. Luke hated that he’d fallen for it, too.

Bodhi’s eyes widened and he looked away. “I’m fine,” he said, a little too quickly. “I get by.”

 _You’re lying_. But Luke didn’t know how he knew that. And he didn’t know how to say anything to that effect. _But what right do you have to the truth from him anyway?_

Then, as though he was the Force-sensitive one, Bodhi asked, “Is it true that Jedi can hear the lie in a person’s voice?” That soft smile from earlier took on a darker quality, deprecating, a cruelty in it that seemed to drive itself inward instead of outward.

“I don’t know. I’m not a Jedi, remember?”

“The truth is every day is hard.” He rubbed at his chin with the back of his hand and his knuckles, unable to look at Luke. “I know so many people who deserve to be here far more than I do, but they aren’t. I am.”

“Hey.” Luke itched to reach for him, to offer comfort in whatever way he could, but the table might as well have been an impenetrable force field for how easily it stopped him. “It’s not a matter of deserving it. You’re here and the Rebellion needs all the support it can get. I see you doing your part. What kind of talk is this?” _Who did you lose? Why would you think you don’t deserve to be here?_

But that wasn’t enough. His words did nothing. And almost before he realized it, he was stretching across the table to grab Bodhi by the wrist as he stood. “Let go,” Bodhi said, asked, demanded, pleaded.

“Wait,” Luke said. “Bodhi, wait.”

Bodhi stilled. Mostly. But his hand still trembled beneath Luke’s touch. “What is it?”

“I know how you feel.” He shook his head and looked up at Bodhi. “So many people died during that trench run and every single one of them should still be here. They had friends and family. They were friends and family. And now most of them aren’t here anymore. I am. That’s not my fault. It feels like it is, but it’s not. It’s not yours either. And you’re not alone. You don’t have to be alone with this.”

“I appreciate that.” Even so, he tore his arm from Luke’s grip and there was more anguish in his features than he’d started with. “And I’m sorry you’re going through it, too, but I—”

Luke knew a lost cause when he saw it. Sighing, he drew back. Anger flitted through him, directed toward himself. For pushing. For asking for too much. For thinking…

_For thinking what?_

It didn’t matter, because Bodhi was leaving and Luke didn’t have anything worth saying that would stop him.

If Biggs was here, he’d clap Luke on the back and laugh in his face, commiserate with him over his failure, tell him to keep his chin up, that it’d work itself out. And if it didn’t, well, he’d just have to help Luke come up with a pretty apology, wouldn’t he?

But Biggs wasn’t here. And he couldn’t do any of that.

He might’ve gone to Han or Leia, but both of them had their own problems to work through; they didn’t need his, too. What did they need with Luke’s worrying after a beautiful—

Beautiful…

Huh.

Luke Skywalker had always had a knack for getting himself into more trouble than was strictly necessary. It’d been true when he was born—though he didn’t know it—and it remained true today. He should’ve seen this coming. It wasn’t the first time.

Well, he’d always fallen for the people he couldn’t have. That was nothing new.

*

Luke pulled on his flight suit, dragged each strap and zip into place with practiced ease; he could’ve done this blindfolded by now, his fingers sure, his mind wholly occupied by the thought of getting up in the air. A day or two away from the base sounded just his speed right now. Give him some time to figure himself out, make sure he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of Bodhi. Win win.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Wedge said, assessing him from across the room, face red and blotchy. His voice came out a little high-pitched and nasal, and yet all the more deeply belligerent for it.

Luke didn’t take it personally even though he could have. “You look like shit, Wedge,” he said. “And you keep telling me I need the hours, so, yeah. I’m sure.”

“It’s babysitting duty,” Wedge said, or complained, really. It was amazing how much whinier he sounded when his voice was doing what it was doing. “Boring. I can handle it.”

“It’s a serious escort for a very important meeting with…” Luke trailed off as Wedge’s face took on a skeptical cast. Which was just as well because he didn’t actually have a strong closing for this particular remark. R2 still had the brief and Luke hadn’t had time to go over it with him yet. “Look, do you want me to take it or not?”

Wedge shrugged. “Up to you.” And the hell of it was Luke believed him on that score. He’d been lucky when Wedge came into the ready room this morning with a cold and a miserable attitude and a face begging for death or help or a break. He’d never have given the mission to Luke otherwise. But he was equally sure that Wedge would suck it up and take it back if he thought Luke couldn’t do it or didn’t want it.

Good thing he wanted it.

“It’ll be fine. I don’t mind. Think of it as you doing me a favor.”

Wedge scoffed, but he didn’t insist that Luke not do it, so Luke counted it as a win. “You’re a piece of work, Skywalker,” he said, blunt. “Take it easy out there, all right?”

“I will.” Luke grinned and hoped it didn’t look too fake. “You just get to feeling better.”

Wedge grumbled something that was probably uncomplimentary and punctuated it with a well-timed sneeze. Luke grimaced in sympathy and clapped him on the shoulder. If Luke was lucky, he wouldn’t end up contracting some form of plague or other from Wedge. And if he wasn’t, well. Just gave him another excuse to keep his distance from… certain other parties.

In any case, he found himself regretting his entirely life not three hours later, so Wedge had had his revenge regardless.

The problem with babysitting duty as Wedge called it was it gave you a lot of time to think, but not a whole lot else with which you could distract yourself. Probably Wedge had learned how to deal with this, but Luke hadn’t. In a way, it was probably a good thing he was on this mission. He certainly needed practice at not losing it when the hours began to stretch and there was nothing new to look at and his legs were starting to cramp in the cockpit.

He’d never noticed how small they were before. Too much trying not to die to keep him from noticing.

“Artoo,” he said, “remind me why it’s a bad idea to do a barrel roll in hyperspace?”

R2 bleeped disdainfully. **[WE COULD. IT’S NOT THAT HARD.]**

Luke paused, figuring that was a lie, and wondered what answer he expected to get instead. “That’s not helpful.”

**[DID YOU WANT ME TO BE?]**

“No, I guess not.”

**[ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?]**

_Great, even the droid is noticing_. “I’m fine, Artoo. Thanks.”

R2 hummed, almost melodic and yet somehow just as disdainful as earlier, but didn’t say anything else. Luke almost prodded at him again, maybe to get him to tell Luke about another of his adventures with C-3PO—he had one for every occasion, it seemed, to the point where Luke had begun to think he was making at least some of it up—but… he really should be doing what he was here to do. Which was protecting the ship he was escorting as well as the diplomatic courier inside of it.

Even if there was nothing _to_ protect the diplomatic courier and her ship from.

If most of his thoughts—when they weren’t about how uncomfortable this whole sitting in a tiny, cramped ship for hours on end with nothing to do _except_ sit there—had turned toward Bodhi and how he’d managed to offend him, that was probably his own fault for wanting to put some distance between them in the first place despite him doing it for both of them.

Surely this was the galaxy’s way of mocking him. There was no other answer for it.

Squirming, the back of his thighs numb, he closed his eyes. Maybe he could meditate. That might help him. And if not, at least he could pretend he’d done something productive with his time. “Keep an eye out, Artoo,” he said, explaining. R2 trilled his assent and again quiet fell. The only sounds he heard were the regular, low hum of the engines and his own breathing. The comms crackled with static occasionally, but it was nothing that could disrupt Luke’s concentration any more than his mind was already managing.

Next time, though, he was definitely going to consider working out his problems instead of stuffing himself into a cockpit to avoid them, that was for sure.

He did learn one important lesson though.

Never trust Wedge when he offered to take a crap mission off your hands and sounded sincere about it; there was definitely some reverse psychology at work there. The being ill part hadn’t hurt, but Luke was going to be much more careful going forward anyway. Just in case. There was no way in hell Wedge was that self-sacrificing.

No way at all.

*

Returning to base, Luke wanted nothing more than a few minutes with the sonics, a new set of clothes, and a meal he hadn’t eaten out of a plastic tube. He would’ve settled for two out of three. When he got none of them, he was a little disappointed.

But it was counteracted by the fact that it was Bodhi who had caused it. Bodhi, who was standing near the hangar entrance, his hands curled together in front of him. He was staring at the ground, lost in thought, and startled when Luke approached.

Which he did. Because he couldn’t not approach. Even after everything. Even knowing he was just making things harder.

He couldn’t just pass Bodhi and head in without saying something. And if he wasn’t here to see Luke, well. He’d have to apologize for that, too. “Bodhi,” he said, feeling shy and trying to overcome it, his nerves twitching with how exposed he felt. He was exhausted and he ached and he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else right now. Bodhi could figure out everything and it wouldn’t matter.

“Luke,” he answered, eyes wide as he lifted his head, “hi.”

Luke wanted to ask if Bodhi had been waiting for him, but that was a step too far. He knew better. “Hi. I, uh…”

“How was the mission?” Bodhi spoke so earnestly that it made Luke’s heart break just a little bit at how hard Bodhi was willing to go for him. It was like he was trying to forget about what had happened and wanted to present Luke with a clean slate.

Luke… didn’t want a clean slate and he didn’t deserve one, but he could respect Bodhi’s desires on the matter. If he wanted to pretend Luke hadn’t overstepped his bounds, Luke could follow suit. “It was good. I got through it okay,” he answered. “Kind of boring, but I’ll take that over dogfights any day of the week.”

Luke winced and looked away. _What the hell do you know about dogfights? You’re barely an X-wing pilot yet_.

“Boring… boring’s good,” Bodhi answered. “Boring’s safe.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Luke’s mouth. _That’s for sure_.

“I’m, uh, glad you’re safe,” Bodhi added, looking at the ground again. His hands tapped against his flanks and rattling the tools hooked into his cargo pants. “Would you… do you want to get dinner with me? We can talk.”

Luke’s mind, so very, very behind, took a few moments to parse the request. Then, it took a few more minutes deciding whether that was a good idea or not.

“I’d like that.” The truth was, exhaustion weighed him down and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for days, but he could put that aside for now. If Bodhi wanted him around, Bodhi’d have him around. However he wanted. Then, grimacing, he said, “If you don’t mind giving me a few minutes to clean up?”

“No, no. That’s—” Bodhi looked him over in a way that made Luke warm all over, a pleasant buzz of nerves working up his spine that he quickly squashed. He had no reason to feel pleasantness about it. It was analytical at best, curious at worst. It wasn’t how he might have wanted Bodhi to look at him. “That’s fine. I’ll meet you in the mess?”

“Sure.” He grinned easily. This wasn’t what he wanted either and yet if this is what he could get, he would take it. He was just happy that Bodhi wanted to see him again after he’d stuck his foot in it one too many times. “Sounds good.”

As he headed through the doorway, Bodhi’s hand wrapped around his wrist and Luke couldn’t not think about their prior meeting. “No, wait.”

And Luke did, turning back to look at him.

He didn’t meet Luke’s eyes and he had to draw in a deep breath, but he said, “Come to my quarters. We can eat there. Is that okay?”

And the easy grin from before became that much easier, so much so that Luke had to tamp down on it for fear of scaring Bodhi with his enthusiasm. It didn’t mean anything, he knew that, but spending time alone with Bodhi? That sounded far better than going to the mess. _Why are you doing this to yourself,_ he asked. _It’s only going to end in trouble_. “That’s fine with me.”

Luke rushed his way through the sonics and changed faster than even he thought possible. All the while he refused to let himself about how Bodhi maybe wouldn’t appreciate him showing up so quickly. Throwing on the nicest clothes he owned, nothing nearly good enough for a private meal as far as he was concerned, nothing he would consider interesting or impressive, he wound his way through the corridors of the base to Bodhi’s quarters.

A handful of people turned curious glances his way when they passed one another in the halls, but no one questioned him, and at best Luke picked up stray thoughts, less intrigued than interested to know where Luke Skywalker, Hero of the Trench Run, was going and why and how come he was dressed the way he was.

 _You’re gonna end up the gossip mill grist,_ he thought. _Again_.

And Luke didn’t mind. Honestly. People had enough stress in their lives that a little chatter about him wouldn’t hurt, especially since so little of interest happened to him outside of missions that it hardly mattered what they said.

He just hoped Bodhi didn’t get implicated. The last thing he wanted was for things to get more awkward between them, see more attention directed Bodhi’s way when it was so painfully obvious that he wanted nothing to do with it.

“It’s just a meal,” Luke said, barely voicing the words. “You’ve eaten with him before. You’ve eaten with a lot of people before. It’s not a big deal. Nobody’ll say anything.” _Don’t think too hard about this_.

But no matter how many times he said it, he knew it was a big deal, that people would talk about it.

And once he was standing in front of Bodhi’s quarters, his stomach turning and twisting inside of him, he knew it might be this way until he figured out how to get over it and move on. It would be for the best. Then he could turn down invitations and he wouldn’t have to worry about whether anyone gossiped about Bodhi and they could just be—

When Bodhi opened the door, head bobbing in acknowledgment as he let Luke in, Luke knew, too, it would be one of the hardest things he’d have to do—moving on.

But he would do it if he had to. For Bodhi.

“Hi,” Bodhi said, brushing that perpetually straying hair behind his ear, an act Luke would’ve given anything to perform instead.

A pair of trays sat in the middle of a small table protruding from the opposite wall, but now that Luke was here, his appetite abandoned him entirely. What appetite he’d had since Bodhi’d asked him to have dinner with him anyway. He tried to remember what being ravenous felt like and failed.

Luke took the seat offered to him and waited for Bodhi to take the one opposite.

“Do you—look. I think we should talk. Sooner… sooner rather than…” Bodhi’s boot squeaked against the floor as he twisted the ball of his foot against it. He reached for the fork on his tray, but he apparently decided against picking it up, his hand frozen above it. “I feel I owe you an apology.”

Luke’s stomach twisted in on itself, tightening with a sick sensation. This was his fault. _You shouldn’t have taken that mission. You knew what you were doing and he figured it out, too_. “No, I get it. You don’t—”

Bodhi shook his head, vehement, his ponytail whipping around his shoulders. “I do. Everyone else knows. It’s not—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed and though he didn’t look like he was going to cry, he brushed his palm over his eyes and stared down at the table with laser-like focus. “It’s important that you know, I think.”

Luke’s hand stretched across the table and covered Bodhi’s, couldn’t help it. He couldn’t _not_ reach out. Bodhi would have to brush his touch away if he wanted it gone. “It’s not my business. It’s not that kind of important. I don’t need to know.”

“You’ll find out eventually. It’s not—it’s nothing… well, it is bad, but. It’s just…”

“Hard,” Luke said. He still didn’t have the right words to talk about Biggs, about his family, about Ben. Whomever Bodhi lost, it must have been terrible.

“Yeah.” Bodhi lifted his gaze “I…”

Luke waited. He’d wait as long as he had to. If Bodhi needed to do this, Luke would listen even though it was unnecessary. No matter what Bodhi had to say, it wouldn’t change anything.

“I was an Imperial pilot.” He spoke quickly, the words tumbling one over the other, spilling from his mouth as though he was afraid his nerves would fail him. Luke might have been surprised once, but he knew plenty of good people who’d joined up or been forced to work for the Empire before defecting. Hell, if it wasn’t for what happened back on Tatooine, even _Luke_ had planned on going to the Imperial Academy. And that was just to get the hell off of Tatooine. “I shuttled the cargo that allowed the Death Star to—”

But he didn’t have to say. Luke already knew. He’d seen the results and the tolls they’d taken on Leia, on Evaan, on what few Alderaanian rebels there were. The specter of Alderaan’s destruction clung to them all. That Luke knew exactly what that specter looked like… so much dust sparkling in a void that shouldn’t have existed…? He closed his eyes. It changed nothing. Bodhi was Bodhi. And there were so many people responsible for the Death Star.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Bodhi continued, “what would have happened if I’d said no sooner. If I’d sabotaged the shipments or…”

“The Empire would have gotten what they wanted one way or the other,” Luke said, not sure he was understanding the problem correctly, but knowing he had to defend Bodhi even if Bodhi wouldn’t defend himself. “It’s not your fault. And you’re here now. That counts. That counts for everything.”

Bodhi’s lips thinned and he tried to smile, but it was clear to Luke that the effort was too much for him. “A man named Galen Erso helped me see the truth. I defected because of him. I…” His eyes took on a soft, regretful quality, the true depth of the emotion there fathomless even to Luke even with the Force at his side. “I wanted to make things right.” He laughed, bitter.

 _Galen Erso_ , Luke thought, feeling sick to his stomach for an entirely new reason. “Galen Erso? You… you were at Scarif, weren’t you?” he asked, already knowing the truth of it, sympathetic pain threatening to choke him, shivering through him anew to settle in a hot, branding pool around his knee. “I didn’t think anyone survived.” _Leia made it sound like…_

 _Maybe she wanted to protect Bodhi, too_.

“I survived.” He laughed again and Luke wanted to tell him to stop.

And suddenly it clicked. All of it. “You still have nightmares,” he said, “don’t you?” Horror washed over him as he realized it was Bodhi’s voice he’d heard calling for Jyn and Cassian.

“Every night.” This he said simply, like it was a matter of course, hardly worth considering.

“I don’t know what happened to Baze and Chirrut,” he continued, “or K-2. I was on the landing pad outside the entrance to the Citadel while they all… sacrificed themselves. Jyn and Cassian got the plans while I made sure the fleet knew to expect a transmission from them.”

Luke didn’t know what the Citadel was, but he didn’t need to ask either. It didn’t matter. For all he knew it was that black monolith from the dream.

“I couldn’t reach them on the comms and I watched as the Death Star struck the surface and I... I didn’t know where they were. I couldn’t find them. I was supposed to bring them all home and I didn’t. Someone threw a grenade into the shuttle—and for a moment I was relieved. But it was defective. It went off, but it only—a piece of it struck my leg. It didn’t explode the way it was supposed to. I could still fly the shuttle and I couldn’t reach them”

That struck Luke deeply, pummeled him where it hurt best and hardest. He still wondered what would have happened if he’d gone off with Biggs to the Imperial Academy sooner, Uncle Owen be damned. Could he have saved him then? Or what if he’d stayed instead of going off in search of R2 and Ben? Would Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru still be alive? Would Ben? Bodhi was obviously haunted by his own game of what if.

The only comfort Luke had ever found was this. “They’d be happy you survived, Bodhi,” he said. “You were lucky. That’s not maliciousness. That’s not your fault. They wouldn’t hold it against you.” _I’m so glad you’re here_. “I know you’re going to hold it against yourself, but don’t let that keep you from moving forward.”

He expected Bodhi to send him away, demand that he stop like last time.

But he didn’t.

“How do you do it?” Bodhi asked. And Luke could tell he wanted a good answer, an inspirational answer, but Luke didn’t have one. Guilt drove him as much as anything else. Bodhi had more than enough of that to spare.

“I make sure what I’m doing means something,” he answered.

Bodhi nodded, thoughtful, still distraught, still in pain, but he reached for Luke, too, held tight to his hand for what felt like the first time. And when he looked at Luke, earnest, fully open for the first time since they’d met, he asked, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want,” he answered, truthful, because there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Bodhi now. If it was in his power and it would help, he’d gladly do it. And this was easier than anything he thought Bodhi could want him to do.

Yes, he’d stay.

**Three Months Later**

“How’s your leg holding up?” Luke asked, raking his eyes up and down, taking in the whole of Bodhi’s body, both searching for signs of strain and admiring him, too, because he could and because liked what he saw and the blush deepening the color of Bodhi’s face was as appealing as anything Luke had seen in his life and he’d made it his mission to bring it out as often as he could. “You’re looking good in that orange by the way.”

“I—” He fiddled with the uniform, plucked at a strap that Luke still hadn’t learned the use for, but existed all the same. “It’s fine. Feels good. I’m ready to fly.”

Luke grinned and jogged the already scant feet between them, unwilling to take the handful of additional seconds it would’ve required for him to simply walk the same distance. Ducking forward, he captured Bodhi’s lips in a brief kiss, grabbed at his suit and hauled him forward to drag him into a hug. “Wedge and I had an idea,” he said, quiet, against Bodhi’s ear. This was for him alone. And it would be his decision. “We’re putting together a new starfighter group. If you don’t like it, we’ll scrap the name, but we wanted to call it Rogue Flight.”

Bodhi froze, his arms locked tight around Luke’s shoulders. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. What do you think? It’s not much, but we wanted to do—”

Bodhi squeezed tighter, surprising Luke with the strength of his hold. “No, it’s perfect.” His lips brushed softly against Luke’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Luke’s fingernails scratched at the thick canvas fabric of Bodhi’s suit as he dug his fingers in. This was the bigger question in his mind, the one that mattered most. “I was hoping you’d join us, too.”

“I’ve never flown an X-wing before.”

Luke let go of him and punched lightly at his shoulder, recalled all the times Bodhi had stared with open, obvious want for doing just that. “That’s what today’s about, right? And if you don’t like it, there are Y-wings and whatever else you might want to try.” Even though it was mostly intended to be an X-wing squadron, but there was always need for other types of ships. There was room. And Luke wanted him there almost as much as he thought Bodhi needed to be there.

Bodhi bit his lip and nodded, peering past Luke to look at the ships currently parked in the hangar bay. Wistfulness overcame him and softened his features, put a light in his eyes that nothing else had in the time they’d known each other. His lips quirked upward and stayed there, happy and just the littlest bit sweet.

Luke was pleased to see it.

And he could only hope it would grow even more common going forward.

It would if he had anything to do with it.


End file.
